


If It Bites You and You Die ...

by Escalus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Episode: s02e05 Venomous, Gen, Hunter Stiles Stilinski, Maybe - Freeform, Regret, Revenge, Scott is a Bad Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 00:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12287307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escalus/pseuds/Escalus
Summary: It could be the simplest thing that changes everything you know.   What would have happened if Scott didn't get back home during Derek's attempt to kill Lydia?   How would the course of all their lives have changed?    Sometimes all it takes is one ... simple ... thing.Stiles endures a tragedy he doesn't think he can stand and ends up with a life he never really wanted.





	If It Bites You and You Die ...

Two hunters stood in a thicket underneath a full moon. Dead leaves drifted about their feet and the shadows cast by the trees obscured their faces. The autumn night was chilly; there would be frost by morning. The larger of the pair of hunters pulled at his collar like he was overheating but it may have been nervousness.

The other, smaller hunter let the corner of his mouth turn up in a wry half-grin. Older and more experienced, he was in charge, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun. He would have liked to say that he was wiser, but he didn’t believe that. Not anymore 

“What’s taking so long?” said the first, shifting from foot to foot. The ‘man’ must have just recently graduated from high school. His long blond hair was tied into a tail as was the latest fashion among youths, but he had a smattering of patchy facial hair designed to make him look more mature. His face had settled into a faltering approximation of fierceness. The older hunter wondered who he was trying to impress.

If it was him, it wasn’t working. “These things take as long as they take. I know that sounds like it doesn’t make any sense, but it does. You’ll learn.” The older hunter chuckled. 

Inexperienced eyes searched the underbrush. The pair had taken up a good position with a command view of their surroundings and with the wind dispersing their scent. But the young man’s posture communicated that he knew he was facing werewolves who could see better, smell better, hear better than they could. They were faster, stronger, and hard to kill. It was intimidating. 

The older hunter may have seemed that he wasn’t paying attention at all but this was a pose he practiced often. He was wound tight tonight and that wouldn’t help in any situation. He took a flask from his pocket and pulled a sip from it. The whiskey always burned on the way down.

The younger hunter stopped his nervous surveillance of the tree line and watched him. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Uh-huh.” The other put the cap back on the flask and sip it into a pocket. “Alcohol is a depressant. Taken in small enough doses in can suppress anxiety. It also gives the illusion that your body temperature is increasing, and it sure is chilly.” 

All the older hunter got as a reward for this was a puzzled glare. 

Clouds scrolled past the moon as the wind pushed them along, ships above the earth. The younger hunter began to pace, dead leaves rustling with each step. At the raised eyebrow of his companion, he gripped the stock of his crossbow and forced himself to stay still.

“This is your first hunt?” The older hunter asked, lightly and cautiously. His watchfulness, born of well-established anxiety, was still but he didn’t want to frighten anyone. 

“Yeah.” The neophyte raised his voice defensively. “But I’m good; you don’t have to worry about me. The Huntress said I was good enough to go on a mission now.” 

“I believe you. That’s why she paired you with me. She knows how pissy I can get if I’m saddled with incompetence.” He emitted a dry chuckle. “And you’re not doing that bad for a bald-ass newb.”

The younger hunter gritted his teeth. “I just want to know what’s taking so long.”

“The omega has to make sure he gets the target to follow him and _only_ the target to follow him. This takes time … and patience.” 

The blond youth hissed. “I don’t know why we don’t take out the whole pack.”

The older hunter sighed, reached out with a pointed finger, and pushed the young man in the chest hard enough to make him step back. “We follow the Code. There’s only one werewolf in that pack who’s killed an innocent, so we go after that one and only that one. Doesn’t matter to me, and it shouldn’t matter to you, if it takes weeks or even months to accomplish that.” 

“But they’re werewolves …” The hunter’s voice did not rise to the point where it was easily overheard but there was more than a hint of exasperation in it.

“Yep. A pack of nine werewolves, who until last month the most violent thing they had ever done was a protest march over police violence.” The older man’s tone was reproving. “I made sure of that. If you have a problem with the way we do things, you should take it up with the Huntress. But I hope your health insurance is paid up.”

“I …” The younger hunter was chagrinned. “Okay.”

Another ten minutes passed and the moon crept through the sky. Waiting never got any easier. The wind blew across the branches and several of them creaked. It was like something out of a bad horror movie.

The older hunter dug out the flask again. “Why’d you join us?”

“My older sister. She was coming home from work, and she happened to stop at the wrong place and at the wrong time, and a monster killed her. I never knew why.” The young man turned away from him. “I follow the Code, but they should all die.” 

Eyes closed in weariness. He had heard stories like that before; he had been a part of that story before. “So, because one werewolf killed your sister, every one of them should die? Even the ones who didn’t want it?”

The blond youth hmmphed. 

“What about some kid who was led out into the woods in the middle of the night to do something ridiculously stupid and morbid, like look for a dead body. He gets attacked by a rogue alpha and turned into one of them. Should we kill him as well?” 

There was no immediate response. The kid was being stubborn. “Do we kill the family of werecoyotes who go to school and pay their taxes and volunteer at church? Do we kill the kitsune librarian whose most secret sin is a secret obsession with Abba’s Greatest Hits? You’ve got to be better than that; you’ve got to be better than me. What do you have to do? _What do we do?_ ” The last question was a demand and the kid damn well knew it.

“We hunt those who hunt us.” The kid said, dutifully.

“Damn right. You gotta let those feelings for your sister go.” He extended the whiskey flask. “I know you’re not old enough but …” 

“How do I let it go?” The words were harsh and they would have echoed if they were spoken with higher volume than a bitter hiss. “It’s like a poisonous snake; if I let it go, it’ll turn and bite me.”

“Venomous. It’s like a venomous snake,” said the older hunter. 

“What?”

“If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous.”

The young man reached out and pushed the whiskey flask away, eliciting a startled grunt from the older hunter. “They told me you were a smartass, Stilinski, but they also told me that you were the best. Let’s just hope your plan works.”

Stiles looked up at the moon and sighed. “My plans always work. That’s the problem.” 

###### 

Scott sat in the holding cell, staring numbly at the ceiling. He had stopped crying maybe a half-hour ago, and now the minutes passed undifferentiated from each other. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t panicking; if felt that he should be in an agony of waiting. His mother was going to be furious and she was going to be scared out of her mind, so by all rights he should be scared out of his mind. He wasn’t; he knew he was innocent. But he also knew that he had to protect Allison and Stiles, and that meant being patient and being quiet. 

He was numb because he didn’t know which emotion to feel next. It wasn’t supposed to have happened; he told himself he did the best he could, but it had happened anyway. Now he sat in this cell, remaining silent unless asking to speak to a lawyer, as Stiles had urgently told him was absolutely crucial. People suspected of murder should keep quiet. 

It was a great relief to him when Stiles slid into the room so as not to be seen by the cameras. He waited patiently until Stiles had disabled them so it would be safe to talk.

“Are you all right?” Scott asked, faintly. “Is Allison okay?”

“I’m fine.” Stiles insisted. He was also angry; Scott had been his friend long enough to know that, but that wasn’t the slightest bit surprising given what had happened. 

Before Stiles could continue, Scott interrupted him. “You don’t smell fine. You smell like blood.”

Stiles snorted in irritation and pulled up shirt, showing the bandage on it. “See? Isaac scratched me a little bit. It’s nothing deep, so don’t bother mentioning it again. Ever. I don’t want my dad to know about this.” They weren’t requests; they were orders. He covered the wound up and scowled at Scott. “Allison is okay. She might have a concussion, so she’s with her parents.”

Scott let out a long slow breath. “This is all my fault. I should have been there.”

Stiles gritted his teeth. “Yes. You should have.” He didn’t bring his eyes up to look at Scott. He was just too angry.

Scott swallowed; he had no idea what to say to make this better. There was nothing to say. “It was my plan. I’m the idiot who tried to talk to Derek when I knew he had already made up his mind.” 

“Yes. I blame you. We’ve established that.” Stiles’ voice was hard and cold. “And then you went and got yourself arrested. You seem to be making a lot of stupid, stupid decisions.”

“Someone had to be there when the cops arrived. Someone had to call them. She …” Scott swallowed. “She was in my bedroom. Her blood was everywhere. I was going to be a suspect no matter what. But I did what you said; I didn’t say anything. There’s no blood on me and there’s no weapon in my house that could even come close to matching what an alpha’s claws could do.”

Stiles gripped the metal railing he was standing next to so hard that his fingers turned white. “You can say her name, Scott. You should say her name.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t save Lydia, Stiles. I … I didn’t think Derek would actually kill her.”

“You don’t think, do you? Maybe next time when I tell you to let someone die, you’ll listen to me.” Stiles closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to steady himself. “I blame you. You’re a fool, who thinks you can fix things by talking to killers.”

Scott stuffed the snarl back down his throat. “All I want is for you and Allison to be safe, okay? I’ll be fine in here, but you have to promise me you’ll stay out of this.”

“Nope.” Stiles shook his head and laughed bitterly. “Even if I said I would you could probably tell that I would be lying. You had your shot at being the leader and you screwed it up. As a consequence I’m pretty much disinclined to listen anything you have to say ever again. So, to make it perfectly clear to even a clueless idiot like you, nope, I am not staying out of this!” 

“Stiles.” Scott felt the panic rising in his throat. “At least stay away from Derek. I don’t think he’ll kill you, but he could hurt you. He could turn you.”

“Maybe.” Stiles shrugged.

“Stiles, please!” Scott was begging.

"You’re not my alpha, Scotty.” Stiles put his hand on the door handle. “Be good. I’ve got people to see.”

###### 

The house always seemed too perfect. It screamed suburban wealth, coffee cakes and PTA meetings, and tiny little fragile dogs. In reality, the house had almost none of that; it did have some coffee cakes to die for. But it was also the fricking Walmart of Guns. 

Stiles knocked on the door and took a deep breath. His towering anger overwhelmed any nervousness he might be feeling at the moment. 

Victoria Argent opened the door to her house. She was still the most intimidating woman that Stiles had ever met. It was partially because she could turn on the charm when she needed to. If it suited her purposes, she could appear as a completely normal suburban housewife who drove a soccer-mom van and baked bread. She could also be a completely normal suburban housewife with her own army of trained killers. 

“You’re Stiles, aren’t you?” She said pleasantly. Threading through the words were an unspoken acknowledgement that she knew everything and that he knew that she knew whose side he was on. “I’m afraid that Allison isn’t feeling up to visitors at the moment.” 

“Yeah. I’m not really here to see Ally, though. I mean, I’d love to see her, but that’s not the point of me standing in front of your door.” Stiles scratched the back of his head. “The real reason I’m here is to talk to you. Not just you, but all of you. Because there is something you can do for me because of something I can do for you.”

Victoria let him in, stepping to one side from the doorway. “This is about Lydia Martin.”

“Yeah.” He followed her to where Chris and Allison were sitting in the living room. Allison had an ice pack on her head. Boyd had tossed her up against the wall. “This is about Lydia Martin.” 

Allison looked up from where she was sitting. “Stiles … what are you doing here?”

“I’m giving Derek Hale to your parents,” Stiles replied. He saw the questions in her eyes, so he decided to cut to the chase. “I’m sure Scott told you that I chained him to the radiator, bought him a dog bowl with his name on it, and taunted a moon-crazed werewolf because he let her kiss him. What do you think I’m going to do to the man who murdered her?” 

“Why come to us?” Chris challenged him. “Why not go to your father?”

“Two reasons really. The first is Derek’s a goddamned werewolf and I don’t want my father anywhere near this bullshit. If you think I don’t know that Derek and his pack could kill my dad and any deputy that they send against him, you must think I’m stupid.”

From the looks on their faces, no one thought he was stupid. Allison bit her bottom lip, her concern clear on her face. Stiles felt the same way; things were spiraling out of control, but he wasn’t nearly as concerned by it. 

“Second reason? My father won’t put a bullet in Derek Hale’s brainpan. You will.” Stiles continued calmly. “It’s a simple strategic calculation.”

Victoria didn’t offer him a seat, and Stiles wasn’t going to sit down anyway. He was too keyed up with a heady mixture of anger and the anxiety it covered. But Chris stood up. “Weren’t you the one who objected to what my family did and how we did it?”

“Obviously, I’m growing as a person. Look, your sister burned a house down with a bunch of innocent people inside, but she got her throat ripped out for it.” Stiles grimaced nastily and shrugged. “Scales balanced. You know that ninety-nine times out of a hundred, I wouldn’t come to you for the time of day, but I know you do have a thing for killing werewolves that kill innocent people. Lydia Martin was not the kanima, Derek’s pack killed her, and I want to help you destroy them in return.”

“You’ve helped Derek …” Victoria began.

“Yeah. I helped Derek, and don’t I fucking regret that right now? Just a few days ago, I held up that paralyzed alpha butthole in a swimming pool for three hours, and, in gratitude, he turns around and murders the girl I had a crush on since the third grade because of an aphorism and a hunch. A hunch which has proved to be so fucking far from correct that one could call it the _opposite_ of a hunch. The Big Leather-Clad Dumbass from New York can’t even claim ignorance. He knew better; Scott talked to him – or probably at him – about the possibility that Lydia wasn’t the kanima, and he ignored it. That means this is all on him.”

Both Victoria and Chris twitched when he mentioned Scott. Stiles let out a breath of irritation. People needed to learn how to communicate effectively. 

“Oh, don’t freak,” Stiles sneered. “Grandpa Stabs-a-lot already knows all about him. Or didn’t he tell you about the hunting knife he put in my best buddy’s abdomen?” 

“No, I didn’t,” commented Gerard with a twinkle in his eye, entering the room from God knows where. Was he lurking just out of earshot? “Admitting I had figured out Scott’s secret would have lead to unpleasant family discussions, and since we’re not the closest family in the world, I thought it best to pretend to ignorance. Speaking of acting in ignorance, why should we trust your word, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Because I’m not Scott,” Stiles replied, coldly. “I’m not a werewolf, and I’m also not someone who is willing to give people a second chance when they’ve proven to be a murderous fuckwipe. Scott’d give himself a stroke trying to think of a way to do this where no one dies, and I’m just thinking about making sure that no one I _care_ about dies. Tell me, Pops, who do you think I’m worried about?”

Gerard hummed. “The next logical person for Derek to kill _would_ be Scott. If Scott won’t join Derek’s pack, then he becomes an omega, and alphas don’t tolerate omegas in their territory. He would demand that Scott join his pack …”

“That’s definitely not going to happen now!” Stiles vowed. He might be mad at Scott, but he knew in the depths of his soul that Scott would never betray him by joining Derek’s pack after what he had done. 

Gerard went on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “Or he could demand that Scott leave his territory.” 

“Scott’s mother doesn’t know, does she?” Victoria asked, suddenly, directing the question at Allison.

“No.” Allison answered miserably, as if this was the worst possible outcome. Stiles noticed that she wasn’t putting up a fight. Lydia had become very close to her, even in the short time they knew each other.

“Is his father in the picture?” Chris thought to ask. 

“Not really.” Stiles snorted. _Now_ they wanted to know more about Scott than just the fact that he’s a werewolf. “But you should remember, he’s an FBI agent. It might be troublesome if you make Scott disappear.” 

“Stiles,” Allison startled suddenly. Perhaps she hadn’t been paying attention as closely as she should have, but her eyes got huge as she looked at him. Of course it was only right that she be surprised; Stiles was bargaining with Scott’s life. “What are you doing?”

“He’s saving his friends from Derek Hale,” Chris told her. Allison’s father obviously approved of this turn of events, though Stiles couldn’t miss the way he kept glancing at _his_ father. 

“You were there, Ally,” Stiles spoke to her, and he could feel his anger surging through his voice again. It burned white and hot once more and gave him the power to do this. “We fought as hard as we could against them and they overpowered us. They murdered Lydia right in front of us because King Tight Pants was absolutely sure that she was the kanima. Both you and I know she wasn’t!” 

Allison was pale and shaky from her possible concussion, but she had lost none of her fire. Her family looked at her with interest, and some with not a little pride. “Are you asking me to defend him? I can’t. He made the call, and he was wrong, and Lydia’s dead because of that. But that doesn’t mean we have to …”

“Your family exists,” Stiles pointed at her father, “because assholes like Derek Hale let the alpha power go to their heads. They stop thinking, because they have the power to back up what they feel no matter how stupid those feelings are. That’s why I refused Peter’s offer of a bite. I know with that type of power, I’d be just like him and Derek. Who’s going to hold Derek responsible for what he did? My dad? You don’t think Derek will fight if the police come for him? You don’t think that his betas will fight for him? Now that I know he’s a murderer, I can’t risk that.”

Allison shook her head. “I understand.”

“Derek’s proven himself to be reckless and dangerous and a killer,” Stiles spat. “If that’s not enough, he’s screwed over Scott, big time. He murdered Lydia in Scott’s house. What did he think was going to happen?” He points at the elder Argents. “None of you better get the slightest idea of trying to do to Scott what you tried to do with Isaac.”

Gerard cocks his head to one side. “That sounds conspicuously impotent, boy. What makes you think you can limit what we choose to do or not do?” 

Stiles, covering nervousness with bravado, stalked right up to Gerard. “Look, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, I know you’ve got an agenda shoved down beneath the rusty door hinge you call a voice box. I don’t give a damn about that agenda, honestly, as long as it ends up with Derek dead and everyone I care about alive. So, here’s the deal. I’ll get you Derek and his betas, all together or separately, anywhere or anywhen you want them as well as the identity of the kanima …”

Allison looked at Stiles sharply. 

Gerard looked amused, but he glanced at Victoria. Technically, she was the one he was dealing with. “And what do you want in return?” she asked, calculating. 

“You leave Scott alone. As long as he doesn’t hurt anyone, you pretend he doesn’t exist. You also keep my dad out of it, though I doubt that you’d mind that much. You seem the type of people stay on the quiet side.” 

Victoria studied him. Stiles felt like a butterfly mounted on the board. “Allison, if you are feeling up to it, could you take Stiles outside? I’d like to discuss this in private with you father and grandfather.”

Allison nodded and dragged Stiles out of the house. Stiles fought a little bit, because he was insanely curious as to what they would say, but in the end he relented.

“Are you sure about this, Stiles?” Allison asked when they were outside. 

“Absolutely. Lydia is dead. Scott is fucked, even when he gets out of the murder charge. The kanima – Jackson, by the way! – is out there still probably trying to kill people. The count is three balls and two strikes. We have one swing left.”

“But my family … they could actually make things worse.”

“Your family, Allison, are just the type of killers we need right now. Derek’s _proven_ that he’s just going to make things worse. It’s just you and me, and we can’t do this.” Stiles sucked down a breath and rubbed at his eyes. 

“Lydia,” Allison said slowly. “Lydia is not your fault. It’s not my fault. It’s not Scott’s fault.”

“Whose fault is it then?” Stiles exclaims loudly. He looks around. “It was our plan. It was our decision not to tell her about werewolves or the kanima or everything.”

“That may not have saved her.” Allison argued. “If we do this …”

“Are you saying that Derek doesn’t deserve it?” Stiles demanded. “You were there when he tore her apart in Scott’s bedroom. All the while, he was saying he didn’t have any choice. He didn’t listen to us. Who are the next people to pay with their lives the next time the alpha decides he has no choice?”

Allison and Stiles stood out in the middle of the night. They could hear low voices from inside. What they wouldn’t give for werewolf healing.

“What about Isaac, Erica, and Boyd?” Allison asked.

“Accomplices.” Stiles snorted. “Fuck ‘em.”

“What about Jackson?” Allison pressed.

“I’ll cry about it,” Stiles said coldly. “He pursued being a werewolf, when multiple people warned him off. He kept pursuing it, and he got Derek to bite him. As far as I am concerned, everyone he kills are just more bodies on Derek’s tab.”

Allison frowned and Stiles reached out and took her hand. “Allison, do we have a chance in hell of stopping Derek or Jackson?”

Allison shook her head. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

The door opened Chris Argent beckoned them inside. This time they did take spots on the couch. It felt so normal to be sitting on a couch that Stiles felt the anger drain away. This was a bad idea, because when the anger left, he’d be aware of the consequences of his decisions. That had to be avoided, still.

Victoria sat primly in the center of the opposite couch, Chris on one side and Gerard on the other. “We’re willing to agree to your terms, Mr. Stilinski. In return for your help in eliminating Derek Hale and the identity of the kanima, we’ll leave Scott McCall alone. With two conditions.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Those being?”

“Scott becomes your responsibility. He is safe as long as you can vouch for his location and his behavior.” Victoria added.

“What?” Stiles was angry with his friend, but he didn’t want to become his keeper. He could see right through this ploy; they were implying that Scott couldn’t look after himself. It was insulting. “I can’t …”

“Only if we’re both responsible for him,” Allison stated, interrupting. “It’s not a big deal, Stiles. You trust Scott.” She looked her family in the eye, each in turn. “So do I.” 

“I think that’s fair,” Chris spoke up immediately. Tension flared; Victoria looked like she had just swallowed a couch cushion. Chris said without embarrassment. “It will go a long way in inspiring confidence in her.”

Stiles swallowed. He could work with that.

“The second condition is even easier to agree to,” grated Gerard. “It would be irresponsible of us to leave you open to retribution, should your plan fail. It would be even more irresponsible of us to allow you to supervise an omega without any knowledge. You’ll train with us.”

“Oh, fuck no.” Stiles replied vehemently.

“You’ll be able to protect you father,” Victoria pointed out. “Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that your plan? Don’t you want to prevent anything like what happened to Lydia from happening again?”

Stiles stared at all of them. There was no reason to say no. Just because he learned to be a hunter didn’t mean he had to hunt. And he could use the skills he picked up to protect his father and Scott. He was smarter than these people. 

Stiles nodded to show that he accepted these conditions. He had this all under control.

###### 

“My plans always work,” Stiles said without humor, looking down at the corpse of the werewolf. The other hunter was busy cutting it completely in half. It was to make sure they didn’t recover. 

“What did you say?” The younger hunter queried, standing up. “Why can’t we get the omega to help us?” He looked over the other side of the clearing. 

“He doesn’t do that,” said Stiles quietly. Stiles and Scott locked eyes across the clearing. He never made him help with the cleanup. He never volunteered to help with it. Without a word, his friend left the clearing, heading towards their cars.

“Why doesn’t he run away?” The younger hunter was beginning to get on Stiles’ nerves. 

“He’ll never leave me.” Stiles said it brusquely, rudely, hoping that it would end the conversation. 

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. He’s your Hound.” Stiles felt his pulse spike. He just hoped Scott was far enough away that he didn’t hear what this dumbass had just said. It wasn’t entirely the kid’s fault; that’s what all the hunters called Scott.

“For that, you get to bury the body by yourself,” Stiles swore. “And if you every say that again within my hearing, I’ll kick your ass so hard your teeth will turn brown.” 

“What?” The kid looked half angered, half-scared, standing up from the body. “You’re the Argent’s best hunter. He’s an omega werewolf that follows you around helps you find your prey. What else should we call him?”

“His name is Scott. He’s not my Hound.” 

“Then why is he here?” This guy was not going to let it go. 

“He’s my best friend; he’s my brother.” Stiles handed the guy the shovel. Stiles didn’t need to raise his voice to demonstrate his anger. “He’s a pretty terrible friend, but he’s the best one I’ve got. He’s also the ex-boyfriend of the Huntress, so you need to shut your mouth.” 

“Sheesh.” 

Stiles looked back down the path that Scott would have taken to the cars. A good friend would have told him that he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was; he would have told him that he was going to be manipulated by the Argents. A good friend would have stopped him from pursuing this path that he never wanted and that he never needed out of vengeance and fear. A good friend wouldn’t have followed him no matter what, until Stiles was the best hunter the Argents had and Scott was an outcast pariah to everyone. A good friend wouldn’t have let guilt for something that wasn’t even remotely his fault silence him as Stiles drove both of their lives into the crapper.

Stiles watched in the cold dark as the younger hunter worked to hide the body. He’d let go of the snake too late. The saddest part? It was twelve years later, and he could barely remember what Lydia looked like. 

He left the younger hunter there, determined to find Scott. Maybe tonight would be better, if he made an effort. And, after all – his plans always worked.


End file.
